Two Arrows: A Story of Red and White

"Ugh! rough place! Climb."

It was a mere crack at the surface of the ground, but at a few feet above it the granite surface was somewhat broken. A good spring, aided by the tough shaft of his lance, and Two Arrows managed to brace himself upon a tolerable holding. If he should slip there would be an end of it, for the grisly was close up now. He clung like a fly, and found place after place for his hands and feet. In a moment more he was sitting upon the round top of the rock safe, but a prisoner, with a guard set to keep him secure. He had come out after adventures and he had found one of the very largest kind. He had never heard such tremendous roaring growls as the disappointed grisly was now uttering. Between these he could also hear, at no great distance, the mournful howls of One-eye. The sagacious animal had not self-conceit enough to match his weight and size against a brute that could have whipped a lion in five minutes, but he could express his feelings concerning the state of affairs.

"He can't get up here," said Two Arrows, but he said it doubtfully, for the grisly is a rock bear, and is made for climbing. He was now studying the face of that rock at the cleft, and it was not long before he made up his mind that he could do something.

"I won't waste any arrows on him," said the boy on the top of the bowlder. "Besides, if I don't get him too angry he may go off."

Not without trying a climb for his human game; and it was wonderful with what care and consideration, as well as skill and strength, Bruin made his effort.

Two-Arrows lay down, bow in hand, and watched him, as he raised his huge bulk against the side of the rock. The long, strong, cruel-looking claws took hold of crevices and roughnesses much more powerfully than a human hand or foot could have grasped them. A grunt, a growl, a great lift, and the grisly was off the ground.

"He is coming. Let him come one length nearer."

Two Arrows did not know that he was testing his quality as a warrior and chief to be. It was a marvellous trial of cool courage to lie there, with an arrow on the string, and bide his time.

"Now! Ugh!"

The arrow went truly to its mark, but the hide of a grisly is a tough shield, and the shaft did not go as deeply as it might have gone into a deer or bison. Arrow after arrow sped in swift, unerring succession, and the bear received them with roars of fury, struggling upward as his wrath and pain aroused him to greater efforts.

"My last two arrows. One for that leg, just above the claw."

Cool and correct again, and the last brace of shafts did their work to admiration. They did not kill the grisly nor even loosen the gripe of that great forearm and claw upon the rock, but the next struggle of the bear brought him upon smooth stone, gently rounding. He reached out over it with his wounded limb, and the black hooks at the end of it did not work well. His game was within a length of him, but it was game that held a long Mexican lance in its ready hand. Under other circumstances Bruin could have parried that thrust and closed with its giver, but not now. It went through his other forearm, and his gripe with that loosened for a second or so – only for an instant, but that was enough. Slip, slide, growl, tear, roar, and the immense monster rolled heavily to the ground below, full of rage and arrow-wounds, and altogether unfitted for another steep climb.

Two Arrows drew a great breath of relief, but he well knew that he had not yet escaped. There were oceans of hate and fight in the wounded grisly, and there was no use whatever in going down for a fair match with him upon the grass. He was in his most dangerous state, and the top of the rock would have to answer all purposes for a season. There was no telling how long that would be, for even when the bear arose and limped all the way around the bowlder, his ferocious growls plainly declared his purpose. He had not the least idea of letting the matter stop there. He meant to stay and watch it out. Perhaps more grislies would come to help him and keep guard while he should doctor himself. It was a most remarkable trap for a young explorer to get caught in, and he well knew that a grisly will take more killing and die longer and harder than any other known animal. Besides, he had no idea how much or how seriously his shafts had touched the vitals of his enemy.

He must stay where he was, and now he felt something like a sensation of mortification. One-eye had deserted him. All the howling had died away while the bear was climbing the rock. The last dog of that band of Nez Percés had turned tail and left his master on the top of a bowlder to be starved out by a bear.

Chapter XII

THE ERRAND OF ONE-EYE

The wagons came slowly on down the pass, but it was only a few moments before everybody but the two drivers had dismounted and stood gazing at Sile's remarkable "find." There were old "placer miners" among them, and they all declared that it was just the place in which they would have expected a "bonanza." Then they all added that without water to wash the sand and gravel with, there would be little use in doing anything more than to hunt for "pockets." There might be "pay dirt" in all directions, but a man might scratch and sift until he starved and not get more than enough to buy him a new hat. They had been through all that sort of experience, and their heads were not to be turned by it. Still, it was decided to try that level again some day, and the whole cañon, at a time of the year when water was to be had. All that could now be done was to carefully search for and gather up the odds and ends of Sile's "luck." Even the necessity of grass for the horses compelled the train to move onward.

When they came to the rocky ledge, with the precipice on one side and the mountain wall on the other, Judge Parks turned to Yellow Pine with a face full of doubt.

"Don't you be skeered, jedge. I took a measure of it at the narrerest p'int, and it'll let the wheels go by and two feet to spare."

That was close work, when they came to it, and Sile shuddered all over as he saw how near the wheels came to the edge of destruction. A restive mule, a scared horse, a little backing and plunging, and disaster was ready to come. Not an animal shied, however, though some of them trembled and sheered in towards the rock. It was hardest when they had to hold back going down and around some of the sharper curves. Sile had several tremendous shudders at such places and drew long breaths of relief afterwards, as the wagons rolled on in safety. Then, on the next level below, there was more axe and crow-bar work to be done, and it was late in the day when the train once more reached a deserted camping-ground of the band of Indians they seemed to be pursuing.

"We'd better take a rest here, jedge. It's been a hard day on the men and the hosses, and we've struck gold a'ready."

Sile had been strangely aware of that fact for some hours, and it had dazed him a little. He had walked on without asking a question of anybody. He had a dim idea that the metal he had found was worth a great deal of money, but he hardly cared to know how much. It was a new and wonderful sensation. His father told him there was enough of it to buy him a farm and stock it, and when Yellow Pine had finished his other duties, at going into camp, and had noted all the signs the Nez Percés left behind, he said to Sile,

"Now, my boy, gather up all the charcoal you can rake from those dead fires and I'll show you something. Slugs are safer to carry than dust and nuggets. I allers used to slug my finds, first thing."

That was Greek to Sile, but Yellow Pine rummaged one of the wagons and brought out a long-nosed bellows and a crucible and a sort of mould that opened with two handles. He put the crucible in among the coals, filled it from Sile's yellow heap, covered it, and began to work the bellows. Sile was astonished to find how speedily what Pine called "bullion" would melt, and how easy it was to run it into little bars. There did not seem to be so much of it, but there was less danger that any of the smaller chunks and scales and particles could get away.

"There, Sile. There's your farm, cows, hosses, hogs and all, and it only cost you a gitten' thirsty."

"They're wonderful," was all Sile could make out to say, and his father put them in a bag and locked them up in an iron-bound box in one of the wagons.

"You needn't scratch into all the sand you come to after this," said Yellow Pine. "That's what takes the tuck out of placer miners. One good pocket'll most ginerally spile the eyes of a green hand."

He assured the judge that one more push would bring them to good grass, and he added,

"What's more, we ain't in any hurry to ketch up with no redskins till we know what they are. It's peace with most on 'em, but this 'ere isn't a strong band, and I kinder want to feel my way."

There was sense in that, especially as he knew that Indians without horses are also Indians on the lookout for some. What he did not know was the state of mind that band of Nez Percés was in at that hour.

They had set out very early that morning, and were plodding on steadily down the winding slopes of the cañon, when there came to them an unexpected sensation. It was a dog.

Right up the trail trotted One-eye, all alone, and with an air of business anxiety. He neither paused nor turned until he came to Long Bear himself, and in front of the chief he sat down, threw up his head, and let out the most mournful howl he knew – and he knew a great many.

"Where Two Arrows?" asked the chief, as if the dog had been human, and he was answered first by another howl and then by an eager look and a tug at his deer-skin leggings. Then One-eye trotted off a little distance along the trail and looked back and barked, and the dullest man in the world could have understood him. It all plainly meant,

"Come on. There's a fellow down this way that's in need of help. Follow me and help him."

"Ugh!" exclaimed Long Bear, and he added the names of half a dozen of the leading braves. "Two Arrows send dog after warrior. Come."

That was somewhat more than the truth, seeing that all the credit belonged to One-eye, but in a minute or so the old chief was leading his men rapidly down the pass. There was nothing whatever to be said, and One-eye kept well ahead of them, every now and then trying to express an idea he had that no time was to be wasted.

"Ugh!" was all the remark made by any brave when the valley came in sight, and hardly more was remarked upon the ruins of the ancient village, but every grunt meant a great deal.

"Not here. Dog go right on," said Long Bear. "Follow. Find Two Arrows somewhere."

They had not far to go now before they halted as if with one accord. From the summit of a granite bowlder, a hundred yards in advance of them, came a shrill whoop, and there stood the object of their search, firmly erect and seemingly unharmed.

"Boy all right," said Big Tongue. "Better come down."

"Two Arrows no fool," said Long Bear. "Go slow. Watch dog."

One-eye still trotted on, but more slowly, until he turned the corner of the rock. He reappeared in a second, with a sharp, warning yelp, followed by the fierce growling charge of an uncommonly large grisly bear.

"Ugh!" said Long Bear. "Stand still. Boy been treed."

He had not been "treed," he had been bowldered, and the grisly had been arrowed and lanced thoroughly. His angry charge had been made with his last energies, and before he advanced half-way he reeled and fell.

There was no boy upon the rock now. Two Arrows darted down from his perch, slipping, sliding the instant the bear followed One-eye. He had waited up there for hour after hour, looking down at his half disabled enemy, and he was tired of it. He had seen that the strength of the bear was failing and that he bled freely, and was not far behind him when he fell.

"Whoop! whoop! whoop! I have killed a grisly. My bear!" he shouted, and it was all in vain that the Big Tongue ran faster than even the Long Bear himself, for Two Arrows had the advantage of them. His lance was the first to be plunged into the dying monster, and the great brute tore up the sod around him for only half a minute before he stretched himself out and all was over. With the help of several hours of quiet bleeding, which cannot always be provided for in such cases, Two Arrows had fought and killed a grisly single-handed, and again Long Bear was the proudest man in the whole Nez Percé nation. The steepness of the rock had helped a good deal, and the bear had hardly had a fair chance, but after all he had been whipped by a boy of fifteen. It was a disgrace to the grisly but it was a great honor to the young hero, for by all Indian law he was thenceforth entitled to wear the claws of that bear on state occasions. Adding all things together, bisons and big-horn and cougar and grisly, Two Arrows was rapidly getting to be a middle-aged warrior, and the other boys had no hope of catching up with him. He might also fairly be said to have led his band into that valley, and now the pity of it was that they had no ponies to eat such excellent grass.

The remainder of the band came down the pass remarkably, with Na-tee-kah well in advance of everybody else.

"Could anything terrible have happened to Two Arrows?"

Her heart beat hard with exertion and anxiety, and when she reached the level she hurried right along upon the trail of the braves. It was not many minutes before she could see them, and a sort of mist came before her eyes. They were all sitting upon the grass around something, and she could hear her father's voice chanting. It was a curious kind of song of triumph, belonging especially to a case of large grisly bear slaying, but Na-tee-kah could not hear it clearly at first, and it might have been a funeral song for all the music there was in it. All out of breath she toiled on, as near as an Indian girl might come to a party of warriors, and then she understood it like a flash. Red or white, she was only a girl, and she sat down on the grass and began to cry. The Big Tongue had risen as she came near, and he was polite enough to say to her,

"Squaw not cry. Boy all right. We have killed a bear. Ugh!"

Chapter XIII

GREAT SCOUTING

The quadrupeds of the mining expedition showed many signs of the hard time they had been having, and it was needful to get out from among the rocks quickly. It was yet quite shadowy in the deep cañon when the wagons were set in motion, but not a great deal of "road mending" was called for from that point onward. Early in the day they came out upon the level, and before noon the horses and mules were picking the rich grass around the ancient ruins.

It was a grand time, and Sile had a dim idea that he only drew his breath now and then, the great, long ones came so frequently. He had felt one kind of awe in the cañon and in looking at the mountain peaks. Now he felt quite another kind of awe in looking at the rude mason-work of those houses.

"Father," he asked, "do you s'pose they were people anything like us?"

"They built three-story houses. No Indians ever did that."

"Is there nothing at all about them in history?"

"Yes, here are the ruins. Here are little books like this."

He handed Sile what looked for all the world like a broken piece of an old pot, and Sile said so.

"That's it. If it is one, it shows that they understood making pottery. Nobody has ever found anything to prove that they were miners, and all the stones of these houses are only broken. None of them are cut or trimmed."

It was a wonder of wonders to stand there and talk about a lost and vanished people, but Yellow Pine was thinking of a people who had vanished without being lost. They were the Indians whose camp-grounds he had moved into and out of, and he had an idea that they might be found again at any hour. He advised the judge not to move on again until some exploring and scouting should have been done. Meantime the "critters," as he called them, did their feeding under a strong guard and close watching.

"Sile," he said, "as soon as your horse has had a good feed, you and I will ride a circuit and see what we can find."

Sile's blood danced a little. Scouting after Indians was a thing he had read about, and he did not dwell too much upon the fact that he was chosen to go with Pine rather because his horse was a fast one and had not pulled wagons than for any reason. Pine said to him,

"Your eyes are pretty good ones, too. Who knows but what you might see something. Jedge, I won't run him into any danger. Them Indians is all on foot."

Sile set to work at once upon his repeating-rifle, his revolver, and the edge of his hunting-knife, as if he had a battle with Pawnees on hand. He gave up studying the ruins at once, and even forgot how many nuggets his gold had been run into. He had never before felt precisely that kind of excitement, and was too young to know that every entirely new enthusiasm is worth a whole book in the way of education, if it comes rightly. People who have never been waked up are apt to be dull people.

It was an old story to Yellow Pine, and when at last they both were mounted and ready to ride away, it was worth while to look at his cast-iron face and then at that of Sile Parks.

"Sile," said his father, as he looked at him, "bring me in some Indians; not a whole tribe; just a few."

"Come on, Sile," said Pine. "We'll bring all we find, I reckon."

He showed no disposition to ride fast, but cantered away to the right, skirting the edge of the mountain slope, and seeming to study every clump of trees and bushes they came to. It was mostly grassy "open" for quite a distance from the mouth of the cañon.

"No smoke anywhere," said Pine. "They're not camped hereaway."

"I walked out along their trail, at the ruins," said Sile. "Why didn't you follow it?"

"That's a fair question, Sile. It looks as if I'd orter ha' done it, but you see, I don't want to ketch up with 'em or let 'em know we're here. I want to find 'em without telling 'em what road I kem by."

It was a sort of half-Indian cunning, but it was not quite equal to the needs of the matter. Full-blooded Indian cunning beat it all to pieces, as they were to find out before morning. It came to pass in a perfectly easy and natural sort of way.

When the entire band of Nez Percés had arrived, and every soul in it had taken a look at the dead grisly, they had no notion of walking back a single rod. The braves had noted the indications of running water in the distance, and they pushed on until they found a camp-ground on the border of a swift, bright stream, almost alive with trout. It was bordered by a wide band of forest, and the trees were magnificent. Here at last they could all sit down in a kind of peace and plenty, and mourn for their dogs and ponies.

Two Arrows had no mourning to do. What he really needed was to be hooped, like a barrel, for fear his pride and ambition might burst him. He felt as if he were about ten feet high and weighed more than a horse. All the other Indians he had heard of were nothing at all to what he was or was pretty soon going to be. He almost despised cougars and even grislies until he recalled how he had felt when the open jaws of the one which had hunted him came up over the curve of the bowlder.

It occurred to him that he had better have a rock or something to help him next time, but his vanity suggested that after all he had invented that rock. The other Indian boys hardly felt like speaking to him, and Na-tee-kah called him to supper as respectfully as if he had been a full-grown warrior. He felt like one, and as if the camp were too small for him; so he walked out of it after supper, and his feet carried him farther. They seemed to have an idea of their own that it would be good for him to take another look at the bowlder where he had been watched for by the grisly. A thorough understanding of that matter might have taken him down a little, but he was to have better medicine yet before he again reached his father's lodge. He had his bow and arrows with him but no lance, and it was getting too dusky for hunting. The ground he was walking over was pretty level but it had its hollows, and as he came up out of one of these he suddenly dropped flat upon the grass. He had not been hurt, but he had seen something that in a manner knocked him down. It was the biggest surprise he had had since he came through the cañon, for two pale-faces on horseback were cantering along at no great distance. They had not seen him, he was sure of that, although they were evidently looking for something. He let them pass and go on until he felt safe in following. Every nerve in his body tingled with fierce excitement.

"War-path!" he exclaimed. "Ugh! Two Arrows a brave now. Get horse. Big warrior. Grow a heap. Find pale-face camp."

Running, walking, creeping, as the mists of evening deepened, the young Nez Percé followed those two horsemen, cunningly avoiding all detection. He followed them to the edge of the rocky ground at the foot of the mountain slope, and there he saw them turn to the left.

"Know now," he muttered. "Pale-face came through cañon. Follow Nez Percé. Got plenty horse. Two Arrows great brave. Ugh!"

He should have gone for help and have performed the rest of his task in older company, but he was full to over-flowing with the vanity of winning another "heap" of glory. He felt entirely competent to deal with one band of white men, and to carry all their horses into his own camp. His rapid successes had been too much for him, and it is sometimes very nearly the same with young fellows of a different color.

He lost sight of his human game several times, and it was now pretty dark, but his keen eyes caught the glow of camp-fires at last, and he knew what that meant. What he did not know was that Yellow Pine and Sile had ridden a wide circuit across that open and had discovered no sign of danger.

"Them Indians," said Pine, as they were riding in, "have gone on to the timber. They can't have the least idee that we're here, on the ground they passed over. To-morrer we must make another scout, though I sha'n't be easy till I know jest what kind of neighbors we're to have."

That was common-sense, and so was the extreme care with which the quadrupeds were gathered and hobbled and "corralled" between the protecting masses of the ruins. The members of the mining party were already divided into "watches," taking regular turns, and Sile and a man named Jonas were in the first watch with Yellow Pine. That gave him a chance for an unbroken sleep when his work was done. What was also good, it gave him a rest to get sleepy in, and to let all the steam of his excitement get away from his head. He ate well, and he felt somewhat weary afterwards, but there was a queer idea growing in his mind that he was in the neighborhood of strange Indians, and that nobody could tell what might turn up.

"Pine," said he, "if I see an Indian shall I kill him?"

"Yell first, and get out of his way, unless he holds out his hand and says 'How?' But you won't have any chance this night."

Chapter XIV

A WRESTLING MATCH

The moon was to come up late that night, and all the first part of it would be lighted only by stars and camp-fires. The mining party had but two of these latter burning low, and the Nez Percé band had not any, after they had done their cooking, but the stars sent down enough light to make things visible at short distances. The two camps were not over four miles apart.

The only really wide-awake watchman in one of them was One-eye, and he patrolled in all directions as if he had an idea that matters must be less secure in the absence of his wonderful young master. Only one dog to do the barking for a whole village was something very uncommon in Indian history, but it was well to have the great duty given to an entirely competent dog.

The boy whom One-eye considered the greatest personage in all that valley had now crept near enough to the mining camp to get a fair idea of what it contained. He saw a wealth of horse-flesh and mule-flesh, every quadruped of it worth half a dozen Indian ponies, and his ambition almost lifted him up from the grass. It stirred any amount of reckless daring, and it made him remember all the stories he had ever heard of famous chiefs who stole into camps and then stripped them clean of everything. He was already that kind of chief in his own estimation, and did not know that within a hundred yards of him there sat a white boy, of about his own age, not so tall but broader in the shoulders, who was at that moment recalling a long list of just such stories.